Mina caught sight of Emma and curtsied. “How do you do?”
“Yes,” Henry said. “You have met before. But, here, my son, Lord Delamere, this isMiss D’Oyly.”
Charles’ jaw had been hanging open, and now his hands were busy smoothing his waistcoat, his cravat, his blond locks.
“My lord,” Emma said and curtsied.
Charles walked forward. “Miss D’Oyly.” He bowed.
“Shall I call for some tea?” Henry said, and Susannah thought she saw the hint of a smirk on his face.
“Please forgive me, but I must away,” Emma said. “I walked over, and Mama and Papa don’t know I’m gone, so I must hurry back to Lady Newland’s.”
“Please, Miss D’Oyly,” Charles said. “Please allow me to drive you back in comfort.”
“No, I?—”
“It would be no trouble. No trouble at all. The phaeton can be ready almost immediately. It would save you a good deal of time.”
“No, I, well . . .” Emma seemed flustered. “Yes, thank you. But I must warn you that my mother might see you and descend on you like a plague.”
“I look forward to meeting any mother of yours,” Charles said and came next to Emma.
Emma bade farewell to Henry, Susannah, and Mina and left on Charles’ arm. Then Mina ran off to find Louisa and tell her her name.
Susannah and Henry were alone again.
“Did you see?” Henry asked, putting his arms around her.
“The beginning of a friendship?”
“He’s taken with her.”
“He’s one and twenty. She’s twenty-nine,” she said.
“Stranger things have happened. And Lady D’Oyly would be very happy to nab the future Ashthorpe since she can’t get her hands on the present one.”
“No, she can’t,” Susannah said, preening and giving Henry’s buttocks a good, possessive grope.
“I like Miss D’Oyly very much. We must help Charles grow into his manhood so he becomes a good match for her.”
Susannah sighed and leaned her cheek against Henry’s chest.
“Will you ever tell her?” he asked.
“No. What would it do for her? If she had no one . . . but she does. She has a family.”
“You can live without her knowing?”
“I lived twenty-nine years not knowing where she was. I didn’t know if she lived. I didn’t know if she suffered. It’s a blessing to find out the worst she has suffered is a mother who perhaps cares too much. So I can live knowing she’s alive and beautiful and good and clever.”
“Like the woman who gave birth to her.”
She rested her chin on his breastbone and gazed up at him, her love. “You compliment me too much.”
Henry looked down at her and said, “I’ve been pondering a title for this chapter of my life, and I’d like to hear a writer’s opinion.”
“And what have you come up with?”
